


In The Right Hands

by LittleLinor



Series: Peace And Love [1]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, implied grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15325785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: Chrono Shindou was nowhere to be found. Chrono Shindou did not exist.But Chrono Myoujin did.AU where Ryuzu did the logical thing and grabbed Chrono immediately after Rive disappeared and Ibuki's life sucks even more than usual.





	In The Right Hands

**Author's Note:**

> "Lin why are you writing another AU" because I needed something to write that wasn't my two big Fic Projects that I can't post yet.  
> I'm still working on getting Pinion up, but health issues have slowed me down bc art is Physically Strainful.
> 
> Anyway, this is a oneshot for now. I'll probably post more in the same universe, but as a collection rather than a chaptered fic, so that I can just write scenes here and there instead of it turning into Pinion 2.0. If you want more info on the universe, stay tuned or come talk to me!
> 
> This is probably obvious, but aside from the usual shit that stems from Ibuki's backstory, or the canon levels of messed up and violence, this universe will deal with grooming. So please be aware/step with caution.

When you headed back to Japan, the Gear Chronicle deck carefully hidden in your coat, you'd expected finding Chrono Shindou to be hard. Who knew where he and his aunt could have gone, if she did indeed take him in? If she didn't, there was always the possibility of checking every orphanage's records for his location, but you'd have to hide your tracks, or your sneaking might be noticed.  
Instead you turned out to be both completely right, and chillingly wrong.  
Chrono Shindou was nowhere to be found. Chrono Shindou did not exist.  
But Chrono Myoujin did.

Chrono Myoujin was, in fact, incredibly easy to find. You'd just started the first steps of investigating and infiltrating the Association (searching for Rive's son was going to take a while, after all, and the rest of the plan needed to be set in motion while you did) when you ran into his name, listed as volunteer staff for the ongoing event as the main branch. Your eyes had almost skipped over it. But the last name itself—Myoujin—was one you'd been looking at a lot, and it caught your attention, and suddenly all your grand plans came crashing down.  
_It might not be him_ , part of you had thought desperately. _Maybe he had a son of his own. It might be a way to spite Rive Shindou._  
But what better way to spite him than to take his own son in? To erase his name?  
It made much too much sense.  
And from there every source you found confirmed it. Ryuzu Myoujin wasn't trying to hide him; records of Chrono showed up frequently. Myoujin's beloved adopted son, a kind fighter popular with the kids and staff of the branches, who had had to be homeschooled due to his health but was now becoming an increasingly prominent figure of the vanguard scene. The only reason he wasn't in the top pool of tournament players, people (theorised), was because he hadn't yet found a team that suited him.  
And then the worst of it all. As you look through records of Association-sponsored individual shop tournaments, you find his name as the winner of a particular shop several times. And the clan listed is Gear Chronicle.

 

It doesn't take you long to find him in real life. Staking out the branch when you're also trying to infiltrate its ranks would make you too suspicious, but the shop he seems to go to is an attractively located one in a trendy but not too busy street, somewhat close to the branch; there's a café right across from it, and it's easy to sit there with your computer and several orders of coffee and work from the end of classes to the evening, one eye always above the screen and to the street outside.  
You finally catch sight of him on the third day, the very same day you actually got recruited by the Association after a succesful interview, as you're reviewing the training material they gave you. A flame walking through the light cluster of people on the street, short but impossible not to see with his hair and the way he holds himself. Perfectly straight, with the ease and poise of a large cat rather than the rigidity of a student told to stand. Steps that are a little too determined to quite be elegant, and a drive, an eagerness, a speed to him that only comes with those whose eyes are firmly fixed on the future.  
You stare as he walks past, takes a few seconds to check the announcements displayed next to the shop's automatic doors, and finally goes in.

You don't go in right away. It would seem too strange, and a new customer is bound to attract some attention; better make sure that he'll already be busy with something when that happens. But you also can't wait too long, in case he really did go in only to buy something (but not cards, you remind yourself, it can't be cards because Gear Chronicle isn't on the market and _he shouldn't have them in the first place_ ), so after a little under ten minutes, you close your laptop, down the rest of your coffee, and head out, crossing the street towards the shop.  
The doors open to some excited voices. There's several people gathered around a table that turns out to be his, watching the fight.  
“Ride! Chronofang Tiger!”  
His opponent, a tall blond boy in a light purple uniform, frowns slightly and prepares his guard.  
You watch. Chrono is steady but relentless, taking risks here and there that keep his opponent on his toes while inexorably building up the resources for greater moves. The other boy, a Royal Paladin player, is much more careful. Too careful, possibly, when faced with that kind of playstyle. But they clearly know each other well: he knows when to guard and when to concede a temporary advantage, and their fights click against each other like clockwork, dancing to each other's rhythm. The kind of fight that only skill and luck will determine.  
“May I help you?”  
You look away as Chrono puts back his G unit and ends his turn again, and find a short woman with dark purple hair watching you from behind her counter, impassive.  
Had she been there when you walked in? You don't _think_ so, your mind would have registered her, but you still can't shake a slight edge of paranoia. Had she been watching you this entire time?  
“Good afternoon,” you say, as neutrally as possible. “My apologies. The noise caught my attention.”  
She nods slightly.  
“Do you need help learning the game?”  
“I'm fine, thank you for offering. I just moved into the area,” you explain with a slight smile. It's easier when you don't have to lie. “I don't remember seeing those units before…” you risk, nodding slightly in the fight's direction.  
“Ah, Gear Chronicle. I guess you wouldn't, if you're new to the area. As far as I know, he's the only one to actually play them—they're an experimental clan the Association is developing, from what I heard. There's been talk of them hitting the market in the next few months.”  
“They handed their experimental cards to a kid?”  
She smiles slightly this time.  
“He's the President's son. It comes with some privileges, I suppose.” And before you can say anything else, she sobers and continues. “Please don't bother him about it. He's had to deal with a lot of curiosity already, some of it uncomfortably persistent.”  
“I understand. I won't, please don't worry.” You smile slightly. “Although I do confess I'd be glad for the chance to play against them, if the occasion arises.”  
That gets an actual smile out of her.  
“Oh, _that_ might not be too hard. He's a natural fighter; if there's someone willing to fight him, he'll go for it happily. Although as you can see, you've got some competition.”  
“I'm not in a hurry.” You smile again, then change the subject. “How often do you organise shop tournaments? I'd like to hone my skills, but Association staff can't enter Association-run tournaments, and I don't have a team…”  
She launches into an explanation and takes out a couple of pamphlets, one with the shop's event schedule for the month and another one with their online resources and general advertisement for the shop. Soon, the both of you are busy discussing events and the local scene, and the fight finishes before you do, the loud voices and clapping announcing someone's victory.  
A few minutes later, you're done, and move away from the counter to let a child walk up to it to buy some cards.  
You wander through the shop, looking at the displays, and catch some of the two boys' conversation, as they absently look through the quest display.  
“So how's the new school?” Chrono asks, swiping from one quest to the next.  
“I like it. You might find it more comfortable, the people there are less…”  
He trails off, searching for a polite way to finish his sentence, probably.  
“Stuck in their world leader fantasy?” Chrono supplies.  
A slight pause. From the corner of your eye, you catch the blond boy smirking.  
“You know I'm not wrong,” Chrono continues, laughing slightly.  
“Oh, I know,” the other boy answers, his tone equally amused. “This is why you don't make friends, Chrono.”  
“I don't want _these guys_ as friends. Besides, I have friends at the branch.”  
“That's true, I suppose.”  
“All these are for this afternoon,” Chrono mutters, “I don't think I'll have time…”  
“Does it matter? You don't really need to do quests anymore.”  
“But I _like_ doing quests!”  
“There's always tomorrow?”  
“I'm helping out at the branch.”  
He gives up with a sigh. You slowly make your way to a table to sit, and suddenly feel on your back the telltale weight of someone watching you.  
Sitting, you're facing closer to them again, and catch the blond boy observing you for a second before your eyes meet. You let yours fall, leafing through your deck. But you can't shake the feeling that he caught you.  
“They should give you points for that,” he says, turning back to Chrono.  
“That's not the same—”  
Something on him beeps. He lifts the hem of his black uniform, and picks up from his belt what looks like a Vangarou-shaped pager.  
“Already?”  
“Wakamizu?”  
“Yeah. Guess I'd better go before he decides to come in.”  
The boy nods.  
“I'll see you this weekend, then?”  
Chrono brightens.  
“You're coming?”  
“I think I can make time.”  
A smile, shining and almost carefree.  
“I'll see you there, then. Thanks for the fight!”  
He half-walks, half-jogs out, surprisingly still fluid, calls a polite good-bye to the shopkeeper, and heads out.

A mere minute later, the blond boy approaches your table.  
“Good afternoon,” he says, perfect polite political smile arranging his features into something resembling a propaganda photograph, “I don't think I've seen you here before.”  
“I just moved in,” you answer, gathering your deck back into a neat pile before looking up right at him. “Would you be up for a fight?”  
He hesitates, face unreadable, then smiles again.  
“Of course.”  
“I'll leave the field selection to you.”  
He nods slightly and goes to find a table. You stand, hesitating a second on your choice of decks. Gear Chronicle is, of course, out of the question. If word that anyone other than the Myoujin family and potentially some of their research team possessed cards from the clan spread, your link to Rive Shindou would be traced back in no time. Link Joker is a possibility, but the Messiah archetype would also attract attention, set you apart. It might be best not to display it too much for now.  
You take out your Kagero deck from your coat, and join the boy at the vanguard table.  
The field he's selected is a desert. Either United Sanctuary or Dragon Empire, but you can't be sure now the selection has already been made. You put your deck and G zones down in their spots, and place your first vanguard down.  
“Since I chose the field, I'll let you take first turn,” the boy says. “Unless you'd rather take the second one?”  
“Either is fine. I'll take the first.”  
“Very well.”  
You draw your hands, and turn up your vanguards. He frowns slightly, staring at yours. Instead of reacting, you just draw again and ride to grade one.  
“I end my turn.”  
“Draw.”  
He rides, and takes advantage of your average powered vanguard to call a rear-guard and attack.  
When your turn comes again and you call your own rear-guards, he finally speaks up.  
“That's not the deck you had earlier, is it?”  
You'll have to be careful with this kid. On the other hand, he could make a useful ally, if you knew where his loyalties lay.  
“It's not. That one is still under construction. This one runs more smoothly; I'd rather not fight experienced players with an unfinished deck.”  
“Aaah. Thank you for your consideration.”  
Kagero against Royal Paladin might be a confrontation of opposites, but he would have struggled far more against Link Joker, you think. This is better in terms of balance, too.  
You attack. He seems more conservative with his guards than he was against Chrono. Still unsure of your playstyle? Or was that just a reaction to Chrono's own?  
“Stand and Draw. Ride, Blue Sky Knight, Altmile.”

You win, in the end. It's a somewhat close fight, but one that you still had under control almost from beginning to end; for all his shrewdness, this boy doesn't yet have the experience to fully read an opponent's overarching strategy unless he already knows them. A good, promising player, but still immature. And aware of his own shortcomings, it seems, from how carefully he plays.  
He offers you his hand as you gather your cards.  
“Shion Kiba,” he says, calmly.  
“Kouji Ibuki. I work for the Association; if we run into each other again, it would be my pleasure to have a return fight.”  
Better to leave that in the open right away. If he or Chrono see you at the branch, they might think you're following him.  
“I'll look forward to it,” he says, smiling again. You honestly can't tell whether it's genuine or calculated, at this point. Maybe both.  
“Well, if you'll excuse me…”  
You bow slightly and walk out, still trying to figure out what to do now your entire mission has been turned on its head.

 

Over the next few days, you go to work, go back home, sometimes stop in that café again (their coffee _is_ quite good, you don't have a coffee machine at home yet, and it makes your previous appearances less suspicious), and watch with a growing dread Sunday growing closer and closer on your phone's calendar.  
You don't know what to do. Part of you wants to run back to Africa and find Rive Shindou again and _ask him what you're supposed to do_ , but you don't have _time_ , and even if you did, he would likely have moved locations again. Finding him could take weeks, or more.  
You're on your own. On your own with decisions you don't know how to take, the weight of the world on your shoulders, and too little, much too little information on anything that's happening.  
How much does Chrono actually know? Is he aware of his adoptive father's plans? Is _Myoujin_ aware of his powers, or did he just adopt him as a way to spite his old friend and to keep his hands on a precious hostage?  
How closely is he being watched?  
You don't know.  
The one thing you do know is that it makes your hesitation on what to do with the Chronojet deck void. Under these circumstances, there is no way you can give it to Chrono. It would make its way into Myoujin's hands in no time, and expose your link to Rive Shindou; you'd go from suspicious to an instant target. And the precious deck that might hold the key to saving both Earth and Cray would be in the enemy's hands.  
But then what do you do with it? You obviously can't play it yourself, for the same reasons. And you can't go back to give it back.  
Keep it hidden? Maybe for a while. If you can get a better idea of Chrono's loyalties, maybe a chance will arise to turn him to your side. And if you do—him being adopted could be a blessing in disguise. If he could spy on Myoujin…  
You take a deep breath, and press your arm to your eyes, lying on your bed. One way or another, this is the only path open to you now.  
You need to get close to Chrono Myoujin.

 

Sunday comes, and like the handful of other young adults who were recruited along with you, you're assigned an easy job, serving as both security and light mediation, for the cases where just someone unrelated stepping in would de-escalate a budding conflict, or to call actual mediators or security. But there shoudn't be much need for that, the woman in charge of training you said. After all, this event is aimed predominantly at children, and competitive players will probably be busy with the tournament organised by the United Sanctuary branch.  
What the job does give you is a good view of the entire area, and a chance to move around slightly. You walk slowly, keeping an eye on the fights. They're slow and clumsy, children slowly learning the rules by playing the trial decks provided and being helped by the staff in charge of teaching them whenever they get stuck. Something in your stomach tightens; when you were a kid, you learned the rules all by yourself, checking the rulebook and the cards over and over again and replaying the very few fights that actually got broadcast. Having a _group_ to learn with as a beginner is such an alien concept.  
You're still staring at one of the fights and trying to pull yourself out of the insidious memories when a commotion in your peripheral vision catches your attention.  
You take a few steps in that direction, ready to move in and intervene, and there he is, in a dark red coat that echoes his hair without overwhelming it, crouched next to a child as a handful of people, both children and adults, stare.  
“It's okay,” he says, petting the boy's hair. “We'll find him.”  
“B-but if no one's seen him…”  
The boy's still crying, but he's wiping his tears away.  
“We'll make an announcement, and he'll find us at the front desk. It's easy, so he won't get lost looking for it. Now take my hand and we'll go there, okay? The receptionist can give you a glass of water too.”  
The boy nods, and takes Chrono's offered hand. Chrono stands, looks around a little, and stops when he sees you.  
Your heart stops, just for a beat.  
“Good timing,” he says, taking one step in your direction. “Can I leave this place to you? I have to bring him to the front desk, and these two still need to start their fight,” he adds, nodding towards two of the bystanders, children who're still holding their decks to their chest nervously.  
“Go ahead,” you answer.  
He smiles, thanks you, and gives the child holding his hand another encouragement before walking off.

You try your best to help the children he assigned you. Explaining the rules, explaining _Cray_ , it was a dream come true when you were a child, a scary but exciting moment of letting someone into your world; the first time you'd done it, to Miwa, you'd already had the words ready, precise. A dramatic, engrossing introduction.  
Now, though, ever wanting to open in that way is nothing but a distant memory. Or a memory of a memory—reconnecting with the person you were then is so hard, everything comes as if viewed through the filter of a story, a picture on television. Explaining the rules comes somewhat easily; explaining Cray is a lot harder, especially now that you know how real it is. You feel awkward and inadequate, with your badly calculated coldness, but in the end, they're too excited to be put off, and before long, they're actually playing, sometimes pausing to ask you a question.  
A few minutes into the fight, a loud announcement asks for everyone's attention, politely requesting a man's presence at the front desk.  
About twenty minutes later, as they've finally finished and start wrapping up their decks, Chrono comes back.  
“Sorry about that,” he says, smiling a little sheepishly at you. “Did everything go fine?”  
“Don't worry about it. It's my job.” You venture a look at the two children, who're not standing and chatting with each other as if they were old friends. “It went fine. They understood the rules.”  
“I don't think I've seen you before… did you just start?” He pauses. “Wait, _have_ I seen you before?”  
Not as unobservant as you thought, then. Although whether it's something to be grateful for or to fear…  
“We haven't met,” you say, “but I saw you at a card shop the other day. You were fighting a friend.” His eyes widen a little, but you're not sure whether it's just surprise or comprehension. And you don't have time to ponder it. “I did start working here this week. I'm looking forward to working here in the future.”  
“Oh! Congratulations, then.”  
He's so blindingly _honest_ that you feel a little bad. And yet, at the same time, a little warm.  
This kid doesn't deserve to know you. Or the man who calls himself his father.  
“… thank you,” you say, and mean it.  
“So, what clan do you play?”  
He sounds genuinely excited, as if the prospect of meeting someone new and getting to _fight_ them had made him forget everything else.  
“I like to play several clans,” you say, “it helps keep a feeling for how the game as a whole is evolving. But…” you hesitate. “Link Joker is my main clan.”  
“Wow, for real? There's not a lot of you around—maybe we should fight one of these… sorry, give me a second.”  
You turn to where his eyes have drifted, and search for a few seconds before you notice it, too: a little girl, not making a scene but looking around anxiously. Chrono, meanwhile, is already with her in a few short steps.  
You catch up to them.  
“Sorry,” he says, turning back towards you, “I'm gonna teach her how to play while she waits—but if you work here, I'll see you around, right?”  
“I assume, yes.”  
He shoots you a bright smile and turns back towards the girl, who seems to brighten quickly.  
Somewhere behind you, someone calls for help on a ruling. You get back to work.

 

You don't fight Chrono Myoujin yet. Over the following weeks, you see him once or twice, but it's always in passing. He does recognise you, and smiles at you when you catch sight of each other, but you're constantly busy, and besides, you don't want to be seen as focusing on him. Not yet.  
Whenever you stop and think for too long, panic and memories start making their way to the front of your mind. So instead, you work. First as a new, low ranked staff, but soon enough the amount of extra work you've put in and your ability to organise things get noticed, and you're pulled up to a higher position. And then the intense fighting you've been doing in shop tournaments starts bearing its fruits, spreading the word that you're a highly skilled player. You start using your own deck more and more. You want people to see it as normal, as part of you, and Messiah is the only one who still feels like they give you any guidance.  
And slowly (or not so slowly, but it _feels_ so slow when you have a _mission_ ), you make your way up the ranks. Until one day your immediate superior, a man who handles most of the branch's affairs now that Myoujin has all but retired, takes you aside and offers you the position of Clan Leader for Link Joker.  
There are too few players, he says. The clan needs to be promoted by someone, especially someone with charisma, and people have been buzzing about you a lot (you had no idea, but you're not about to contradict him). And several of the other high profile players have unsavoury personalities or backgrounds.  
You take the test. You take on the mantle, cumulating your responsibilities as clan leader with those as high ranking staff at the main branch.  
It has been four months.

 

And then you see him again. Not at the branch, but at the shop, one Saturday afternoon, in the monthly tournament that you've had, for the first time in a long while, actual time for.  
You notice him when he arrives, of course. He doesn't, too busy talking to two girls, one with green hair that you vaguely identify as the sibling of one of the Dragon Empire Clan Leaders, and one with curly peach hair who seems mostly content listening to them chat. As the matchups are announced, though, they break off, him on one side and the girls sticking together, as if their meeting had been more chance than an actual planned meetup between friends.  
You're on opposite branches. It makes the probability of fighting him low, but that hadn't been your original goal anyway. So you just fight the way you usually do, calm but overwhelming, and one by one your opponents fall and the little red line that started at your name goes up on the board, and up, and up.  
And before you know it, it's the final, and you look up. And there he is.  
“Long time no see, huh?” he says, shuffling his deck. “Congrats on the promotion.”  
“Thank you.”  
“I didn't think this is where I'd end up fighting you, though. Funny how we both spend a lot of time at the branch but never run into each other, huh?”  
“Two positions is a lot of work.”  
He laughs a little.  
“I can imagine. But if you're a Clan Leader, I'm even more excited to fight you now.”  
He does look excited. There's a light in his eyes that doesn't quite fit the clean, proper Association darling image, or the kind boy who notices the children no one sees. Or maybe it's because his eyes are so sharp that he does see them. There's something about them that makes you feel unsettled, almost like you're twelve and breaking apart again. And you're not sure whether they would've made you feel better or scared.  
“… the same goes for me.”  
You hold up your fist, in the usual gesture for paper rock scissors. He grins and does the same, and there's definitely a flame now that calls for battle, in his eyes, in his smile, in the subtle way his shoulders anchor themselves down.

You fight. Watching it, it had already been obvious, but experiencing it it something else. He's a natural, a born fighter, who throws everything into the fight the way you've been forced to do. Passion and talent and a taste for battle that have been honed by countless fights, by years of refining. And there's a pressure there, in his every move, in the way he looks and smiles at you, and when he delivers his last attack you could swear you felt the wind blow across your cheeks. Your hair flutter lightly before settling over your neck again.  
It's every one of your suspicions confirmed, the potential for a power, a weapon beyond what Myoujin could hope to control. But it's out of your control too.  
Chrono wins, and smiles as he reminds you that you were a trigger away from victory.  
And you're scared.


End file.
